A Roleplay of Insanity
by Alexander Butters
Summary: Malcom isn't normal, is he? After all...he does talk to himself. His family just plays along.  A short story about how people are different, and how it can be a good thing...


10/30/10

...

His parents believe he is both gifted and blessed: After all, the first two children were mistakes, and he sure as hell didn't get his "smarts" from them, so they always do everything they can to get their third-born son out of the house, exploring and learning all he can as he matures into an adult.

They never thought much about him speaking to himself- muttering and narriating his thoughts as if the family wasn't pressent; he would turn, for example, away from the dinner table to complain to the empty space how the food smells, or how he hates when his Dad makes pancakes the wrong way- "how the hell does someone make them too gooey every time?" he once said aloud.

The third born's older brothers, Frances and Reese, were both on the low IQ, and would often pull jokes or create arguments in order to make the third-born think of a way to handle their own problems. They would stimulate his brain- force him to speak to them- so he wouldn't feel the need to talk to himself, or his invisable audiance.

His name... Is Malcom.

And for the longest time, his parents paid half the school to keep his mutterings a secret; "pretend you don't hear a thing," his father Hal told them children, the teachers, and the bullies. And from his mother, waving a hundred dollar bill after him; "and if I hear a single word about Malcom talking to himself, I will tear your little hearts out through your eyeballs! Got that?"

Reese and Dewey, who both attend school with Malcom, always stay on the calm side, joking lightly and acting oblivious to their brainiac-brother's oddities; after all, why look down on one thing he does weird, when everything he else does is so brilliant?

He isolates himself for hours on end, studying in his room: Too many times have either Louis or Hal (his parents) have walked by the door and over heard his babbering.

It's unhealthy. It's not normal. But he is probably the smartest child they'll ever have, they figure.

But to himself...he is a dork. He is too smart for his own good. He hates being relied on his entire life, but he knows the family needs him in order to- well, survive. Without him, his family would fall to pieces. So he believes.

Hugging his head, he looks down at his open math book, the pencil breaking between his fingers, little bits of wood falling into his hair.

With a sudden sigh, he turns to the empty corner of the room, and says, "Normally, on a bright beautiful Saturday morning- _like today_- I'm outside playing with my friends." His eyes widen, putting drama into his next words: "Instead, I get to do Reese's math homework, Dewey's science, and balance my dad's checkbook." He frowns darkly into the empty spaces. "But... if I don't do this for them, I wont be able to go to the movies next week with Stevie- even though I_ dont _want to go."

Groaning, he turns back to his pile of work and brushes the flecks of wood from his hair. He watches them sprinkle onto the pages of letters and numbers.

He wonders if the amount of wood particals equal to that of the bits of lead that are unseen to his naked eye.

Shaking his head angrily, annoyed with his thoughts, he grabs a new pencil and begins to calculate things only calculaters are meant to do correctly- yet Malcom completes the work with straight As.

Outside the door, Louis waits another minute, straining her ears for her son's chanting. But when only silence greets her, she realizes that Malcom must need a new work-out for his brain. So she turns, walks into the other room, and yells in a violent rage, words coming out with no real thought, saying, "_Reese!_ You put hand-soap into the dishwahser again! Get your butt over here and clean it up!"

From the living room, Reese turns from his transfixed position in front of the Tv, his face twisting into a frown. "_What? _I don't even know _how_ to start the dishwasher!"

"Right now, mister!" bellows his mother, her face turning red.

Alone in the dark room, Malcom throws his pencil at the wall. He stands up and heads to the door to leave.

"You cant make me!" shouts Reese, his tone suggesting he is smiling. "I'm not doing something I didn't do!"

"Is that a challenge?" asks Louis loudly.

He sighs once more before giving the bedroom a dull, hopeless look. "Well," says Malcom. "Guess they need me." He turns the knob and leaves, off to save the day.

But in reality...though he may never know it...he needs them.

...


End file.
